The AU Files
by tinseltown
Summary: AUs, one-shots, & ficlets starring Bucky, Victoria, Ari, Steve, other characters from my stories "Heading Home," "The Original Three," future stories, and any other Marvel characters I please, really! A mix of pairings will be written about, whatever suits my fancy. Just for fun! Ideas will usually taken from online. Fluff, angst, anything can happen!
1. Stay In Your Lane

**A/N: Here is where I'll post all of my AU one-shots or ficlets! They'll involve characters from all my current, and future (when they get posted!), stories and can involve pairings of any type (i.e. Victoria and Steve!). Some of the AUs will involve my characters separate from the story they come from (i.e. Victoria and Bucky are just normal people and strangers). Other AUs may be fitted into the scheme of my stories. You'll be able to figure out which is which pretty easily, I'm guessing. The whole point of this is to just let loose and get creative and imagine all sorts of fun scenarios and pairings. I'm still debating on whether to add AUs for canon MCU characters in this story (such as Buckynat, Romangers, etc) or whether to post those as separate AU one-shot stories (the way I did with my Buckynat AU one-shot _Candy Coatings_ ). We'll see! **

**As for this one-shot… Victoria and Bucky AU! Idea from jonahryan on tumblr: "You drive a massive SUV and steal my parking spot all the time and I was just heading out to leave a strongly worded note under your windshield wiper but oh no you're hot." [Characters from my story _The Original Three_.] **

* * *

**Stay In Your Lane**

Every. Single. Monday.

The SUV is there _every single Monday._

I have no idea why. It's _my_ parking spot. I mean, okay, it's not _technically_ mine. I don't own it. It doesn't have VICTORIA stamped on it (though…actually…that's not such a bad idea… I need to go to the Home Depot for some paint now). Most other days of the week, it's parked way down the row at the end, by the dumpster.

How fitting. BECAUSE THEY ARE TRASH.

Okay, Victoria, calm down.

The first few times it happened, I didn't even notice. I don't know any of the tenants who live in my apartment building and once a week isn't actually that often, so it took me a good two months to catch onto the pattern. But now that I've caught on, I can't stop noticing and it drives me insane! Every other day of the week they park their _massive_ (and glossy—yeah, it's a pretty nice SUV, so what? Don't blame a girl for looking) SUV at the end of the row. Why do they always have to park on my spot on Mondays?! Aside from being the worst day of the week, what's so special about Mondays?

Do they hate me? Do they have a vendetta against me? _Let's make Victoria's Mondays just a wee bit worse_ or something like that? Because it's definitely working.

The worst part is, I can never stop them from parking there. I can hear what you're saying: "But Victoria, why don't you just get there _first_ and stop them in their tracks?"

Ha. I wish. But I work late on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. I know, it's probably illegal to make me work that late on a Sunday but I'm making good money so who really cares?

I'm a nanny, by the way. Part-time for a super-rich couple that lives on the Upper East Side. Don't even ask me how I got the job but hey, it helps me pay the bills. Being a preschool teacher who only teaches a.m. classes four days a week _surprisingly_ does not pay well!

So yeah. I arrive home pretty late on Sunday nights. I'm already tired, I need to make sure I have everything ready for my class of cute goobers tomorrow morning, and lo and behold, their huge freakin' SUV is in _my spot_. The spot that's almost directly in front of my front-facing apartment.

So I guess…technically it's every Sunday night—but it _stays_ parked in my spot all through Monday night so I have to park somewhere else on Mondays as well, which makes me annoyed for Tuesday mornings too. But when I get home on Tuesday afternoons…it's gone. And when it comes back for the night…it parks somewhere else in the lot!

What. The. Heck.

I've just gotten home from work. There was traffic on the roads, I didn't get time to eat lunch today, and one of my kids spilled orange juice down the front of my white pants.

I mean, that one is definitely my fault. What kind of person wears white pants to a preschool? Someone who's in the mood to lose their white pants, that's who.

But all the same—I'm in a horrible mood. So when I pull into the small parking lot in front of apartment complex, I pass the shiny, huge SUV parked in my spot and glare at it. My fingers twitch on my steering wheel and I consider nudging their car just a bit—just a teeny, tiny bit to leave a small scratch—I mean, I have a Toyota Camry so who really cares about my car, right? All I'd have to do is "accidentally" lose control of my car for a second…

No. _No_. I can't let myself get too crazy.

I call the SUV a few choice swear words and then I sigh and start circling around the parking lot looking for an empty spot. Technically there should always be at least one spot available for each tenant, since we're only allowed to have one car per apartment—but I know for a fact that there are a bunch of families that break the rule and have two cars. I think one enormous family even has three cars, amazingly. Not sure how they get away with it but okay. As a result, we're always a few parking spots short. You'd think that the spots up front in front of the building always get taken but surprisingly, no. I think people realize that those are choice spots which have been in use by people for a very long time—I've lived here for years now—and taking one of those spots is only going to cause trouble.

This is clearly something Mr. or Mrs. SUV does not understand.

I can't find parking in the lot so I have to leave, circle around the block, and park at a free lot up the street. I live on the outskirts of New York City so it's kind of like a weird mix of suburbia and city—lots of apartments but also lots of parking lots and trees and supermarkets. I like it, though. It's easy to get to the city if you know the inside routes (which I do, ha) and it's still secluded enough to be peaceful.

I kick off my driving flats and pull my kitten heels back on. Then I slam my car door shut and storm down the street toward my apartment building. It's a beautiful spring day, bordering on a warm summer, but I am so not in the mood. My beautiful new white pants have sticky orange stains all over them, my feet ache in my kitten heels, and my golden-auburn hair has come out of its nice bun. I look, and feel like, a total mess.

I march up to the SUV in the lot and survey it with my hands on my hips. It's gleaming black and is simply enormous. It looks very expensive. I don't live in a low-income area but the area also isn't wealthy. It's basically…middle-class. I don't understand why someone who can afford this kind of obnoxious Range Rover (or whatever it is; I don't understand anything about cars. What's the one with the horse called? Stallions? See, I have no idea) would want to live _here_.

I consider aiming a kick at the SUV in my pointy heels but no, that would damage my heels. I got these 50% off at Payless last week. I ain't about to ruin them over this jerk. Then I think about the switchblade I always tuck into my purse when I go somewhere (except school of course because I'm not really into the whole _getting arrested and sent to jail_ thing, you know?). What if I—

Could I just slash their—

No. How could I even think of such an awful thing…

But maybe if I just—sort of very carefully—

NO. NO. What am I thinking? That would be bad and mean and…illegal, probably.

No, that's definitely illegal.

I decide to go inside and write a strongly worded letter of complaint to: 1) The asshole who owns this SUV, and 2) The landlord of our complex who seriously needs to get off his lazy butt and arrange to have this parking situation fixed.

I realize I sound like I'm being a bit of a baby and…you're right. I am being a baby. And that is totally okay because hey, I teach babies four days a week. I have to get into their mindset somehow, right?

I head inside and I don't waste any time changing out of my stained clothes, oh no. I sit down and immediately start writing my letters while I'm still in a heated passion and have the blazing mindset for this. Otherwise I'll calm down and cool down and start thinking rationally like an _adult_ and we can't have that, can we?

The letter to the landlord is pretty easy to write. He's an idiot and he never gets anything done so I feel justified in abusing him thoroughly. He's so lazy that he can't even be bothered to get angry at the people who write him angry letters. I know my letter will go to waste but he still needs to hear from the people, so I write it anyway.

Then I write the letter to the SUV owner.

In my defense…I do get a bit heated when I write it. Okay, I get _very_ heated. And…I do make some stupid assumptions when I write it. Such as the fact that the owner is probably some sort of overbearing soccer mom. I've been thinking about the owner as a woman.

Would you like to hear my letter? Of course you would. Here it is.

 _Dear Madam Owner of this Huge and Stupid SUV,_

 _If you would PLEASE refrain from parking in this space from here on out, it would be greatly appreciated. I have used this parking space in peace for years and I feel justified in saying that it basically belongs to me. I don't appreciate you horning your huge, obnoxious vehicle into the spot every Sunday evening and all through Monday (which happen to be two of the most inconvenient days to do this to me as well; do you have this in mind when you do this, or…?). I am sure that you have a posse of sweaty, stained children you need to be lugging around to soccer practice or ballet or whatever and I assure you, I understand. I teach young children myself. But there's really no need to park in this spot on Mondays, especially when you seem to be able to SO easily find different parking every other day of the week! You have just created an unnecessary hassle for me and for what reason? No one even knows. So PLEASE STOP PARKING THERE._

 _Sincerely,_

 _An Irritated Neighbor._

I slam my pencil down, fold the paper, and then march down to the parking lot. I walk over to the SUV, gleaming in the afternoon sun, and before I have time to chicken out or think about the awful stupidity (and immaturity) of what I'm doing, I stick the note under their windshield, dust my hands off, and say, "Ha!" Then I start backing away before I chicken out.

Except I back right into a body.

I jump in alarm and let out a cry, whirling around and taking a huge step back. A guy is standing there and—

Oh, wow. He's…he's pretty good-looking.

In fact, he's _really_ good-looking. He's wearing a deep blue men's utility jacket that really brings out the blue in his eyes over a loose white v-neck—my absolute favorite style of men's t-shirts—over clearly-designer dark-wash denim jeans and gray Sperry's. He has dark brown, slightly wavy hair that's pulled back from his face into a pony, a five o'clock shadow on his face, and a dark eyebrows that are currently furrowed. He's very cute. And very confused.

I quickly check for a wedding ring and find there is none. Not that I'm a psycho who thinks this man is going to marry me but you know, it can never hurt to check.

Although, of course, there are plenty of scumbags who take off their wedding rings to cheat on their wives.

And guys who have girlfriends obviously don't wear rings either.

But still. His fingers are free of any rings.

"What did you just put on my car?" he asks.

For a second, his words don't make sense in my mind. Over the past few weeks I've built up the image of the owner being an overbearing, obnoxious middle-aged mom type, so his words don't compute at first. His…car? What is he talking about?

Then it clicks: his car. The SUV. Is his car. The very same SUV upon which I've just put a very angry (and very incorrect) letter.

Wait, is this cute guy really the one who's been making my Mondays miserable for the past two months? Just my luck. Meet a cute guy and he's already messed up majorly.

"I—uh—" I seem to have lost the ability to speak normal English. Sometimes this happens to me because I'm so used to speaking in preschooler-speak but now is really not the time! "Nothing," I blurt. "I was just—um—"

"What did you put on my windshield?" he asks, going for it.

"Nothing!" I shriek, darting for it. He lunges forward and since he's taller and has longer arm reach, he grabs the paper before I do and takes a step back, a triumphant expression in his eyes. "Please give that back," I beg. "I was—this was—I wrote a note but it was for someone else, I think I put it on the wrong car—"

"Oh really?" he says. "Let's read it then, shall we?" He opens it, clears his throat, and reads the first line out loud: "Dear Madam Owner of this Huge and Stupid SUV." He raises his eyebrows at me and pointedly looks around the parking lot. There are no other SUVs in sight. I grab for the letter again but he just holds it out of my reach and keeps reading. Ugh! Tall people! They're so annoying!

He reads the letter in the most dramatic way possible, horrible man. Prolonging my embarrassment by raising his eyebrows and taking dramatic pauses in between sentences and interjecting his own little "Well, well," and "Interesting, I didn't realize I had a posse of kids," comments in between.

My face gets hotter and hotter with every line he reads and I can feel myself blushing from head to toe. With the auburn in my hair and the few freckles on my face, it's not really a good look. And now I've just realized that horror of horrors, _I am still wearing juice-stained white pants._

Let me die now.

Why did he have to be so good-looking though?! I am fully prepared to admit that I am shallow! Had he been some ugly middle-aged man or even some random woman, I might not have been as embarrassed. Normally I'm not into long hair on guys but he makes it look so casual and…well, good.

When he's done, he clears his throat and peers at me, a slight smirk on his face. "My god. I didn't realize I was creating such an—what was the wording?" He looks back at the letter. "Such an 'unnecessary hassle' for one of the tenants, especially when parking is free and spaces aren't rented out to specific individuals!"

Okay, when he puts it that way, I sound _really_ immature.

Fighting my blush, I furiously say, "Well—I've lived here for years and I've been the only person to park here since I moved in! No, I don't _own_ the spot but it's not polite to just start taking it on specific days all of a sudden! And I don't even understand why. Why do you need _this_ spot every Monday, huh?"

He stares at me for a long moment and then he suddenly smiles. "You're right. I don't actually have a real reason for parking here every Monday."

"Wh-what?" I splutter. "So why—why the hell do you do it?! You've been driving me crazy!"

He grins wickedly. "That's what I was hoping I'd do—but you didn't really react the way I thought you would, if I'm going to be honest. Do you always have this much of a temper? That can't be good for you."

What. Is. He. Talking. About?

"What. Are. You. Talking. About?" I demand, clenching my fists. I smell like orange juice, the sun feels too hot on my head, I'm utterly lost, and I'm going to totally lose it if he says any more weird things that don't make any sense.

"You're cute," he says. "I noticed you when I first moved in here. I said hi to you and you said hi back but you didn't even look in my direction! And you were always rushing around all busy."

"I…what?" I wrinkle my nose, trying to remember. "You did?" Perhaps he's right—I do always seem to be rushing around—but I really don't remember saying hi to him. Then again…I suppose that's his point: that I didn't notice him.

"I wanted to talk to you again but I—I guess I felt sort of lame approaching you _again_ ," he said sheepishly. "So I decided to start parking in your space—and yes, I noticed it's your space—on Mondays, which is the day I have off from work. I work at a gym, by the way," he adds. "I'm a physical trainer."

"I don't care," I snap. That's a lie. Yes, I do care. Of _course_ he's a physical trainer. He's extremely well-built and I can tell he spends a lot of time working out—

Focus, Victoria! Not the time!

"Anyway, I was _hoping_ that you'd react like a normal person and just come find me and politely ask me to stop parking in your spot," he said. "Preferably on a Monday because I'm usually home all day, so I had the best chance of being there if you dropped by. And then I was going to ask you out." He grins at me. "But you never came!"

"Two months is a long time to keep doing this with no result," I say.

"You're underestimating your cuteness," he says smoothly.

Oh, _honestly_. It's such a stupid, smooth, calculated line. It's designed to make me feel flattered. As a modern woman, I should be seeing right through it. So why do my knees feel a bit weak?

"You know, someone could call this harassment," I say skeptically, putting my hands on my hips. "What you were doing."

He shrugs. "Why? The spaces are technically open to any tenant. And I was letting _you_ come to me."

Damn it, he's right. Aside from getting the best of my own temper, he hasn't actually harassed me in any way. Actually, he's been pretty low-key, compared to some of the psychotic things guys have done to get my attention. (One guy thought it would be cute to show up at my primary school in a white windowless van marked with "CANDY" as a joke. The police were called on him.)

I cross my arms, unsure on what to do next. Yes, he's annoyed me, but…okay, it's _sort of_ funny, what he did. And sort of cute. Even if I was cursing the owner of the SUV to an eternity burning in hell every Monday for the past two months.

"And instead," he says, beginning to laugh and waving the paper around, "you wrote this insane letter! I'm going to keep this forever. This is going to make a great story."

"No, don't!" I squeak. "It's so—oh my god," I moan, covering my face with my hands. "I don't even know your name! I don't know anything about you!"

"Well, let's see." He crossed his arms and looks thoughtfully up at the brilliant blue sky. "My name is Bucky Barnes. I'm twenty-nine years old. I work as a physical trainer, as you already know. I just moved here about two-and-a-half months ago from Brooklyn. I have a best friend named Steve who's on his way to becoming the next big thing in the art world. He'd love your eyes."

"My—" I stare at him, surprised.

Bucky smiles. "Yeah. They're this really pretty gray color, have you noticed? They go really well with your hair. Steve is kind of weird about interesting color schemes."

"Maybe I should be going out with this Steve," I say slyly, gauging his reaction.

He grins at me. "Except he's already taken by this other redhead so I think _she'd_ probably have a problem with that."

"Well, I wouldn't want to get in the way of another woman…" I murmur.

"So what about you?" he asks. "What's your story? What's your name? And more importantly than _either_ of those things, what the hell happened to your poor pants?"

I can't help it; I burst out laughing. Yes, I know. I should be mad at him but he's cute and he's being funny and I'm kind of amazed at the patience he's had in trying to get my attention, even risking provoking my wrath in the attempt (and yes, wrath hast been provoked).

"One of my preschoolers spilled orange juice on them," I giggle. "It's not really funny, but…" I sigh. I'm not in the habit of giving my name out to random men but he doesn't _seem_ like a psycho—

Okay, he seems sort of insane but not in a violent killer way, you know?

"My name is Victoria Marsden," I say. "I'm twenty-five years old. I'm a preschool teacher, as you know, and I also work as a nanny a few days a week—one of those being late Sunday nights, which is why I could never catch you in the act of parking near my car," I add grouchily. He winks. How infuriating! And cute. But mostly infuriating! "Weirdly enough, I also grew up in Brooklyn—"

"Really," he says, sounding interested. "Did you ever eat at Pete's Place?"

"I used to go there every Saturday with my parents as a kid!" I squeal. Whoa. Enthusiasm, much? I clear my throat and continue in a normal voice but my cheeks turn pink because he has a mischievous look in his eyes, as if he's noticed me checking my voice. "Too bad they closed down," I add a bit sadly. Pete's Place had the best malt milkshake I'd ever tasted in my life.

"They recently re-opened, did you know?" he asked. "The owner's son decided to bring it back."

"Really?!"

"Yeah. And I've heard good things, that it tastes about the same." He takes a step toward me and raises an eyebrow, thoughtfully saying, "You know…we could go together."

"What?" I say, shocked.

"In fact, I _want_ to take you there," he says. "I've waited two torturous months for you to approach me and fine, you did it in an unexpectedly weird way, but you still did it! Don't you think you at least owe me for insulting my baby so badly?" He pats his SUV lovingly and fake-frowns at me. "For an obnoxious and huge baby, she's a pretty sweet ride."

My face feels hot and I desperately want to turn him down but I bite my lip and say, "Oh, alright," while holding back a small smile.

"Then Victoria Marsden," Bucky Barnes says, starting to walk backwards away from me, grinning wickedly. "Saturday evening. It's a date. And," he calls, jogging backwards and throwing his arms wide out, "I'll be picking you up in my huge, obnoxious SUV, if that's okay with you." He winks.

And it is. I can't hold back my stupid smile. It is totally okay with me.


	2. Fight Me!

**A/N: Ari and Bucky AU! Idea from turduckian on tumblr: "I tried to rescue you from being mugged but instead I got knocked out and you had to take me to the hospital after having your wallet stolen." [Characters from my stories _Heading Home_ and _The Second Trial_.]**

* * *

 **Fight Me!**

 _What kind of mugger prowls the streets at six p.m.?_ This was the first thought that popped into Bucky's mind as he stared incredulously at the furious but silent struggle that seemed to be going on in the small alley outside of Applebees. The second thought that went through his mind was: _What kind of mugger hits someone up next to Applebees?_

He'd been walking past, headphones stuck in his ears, hands jammed into his pockets, silently rocking out to Rise Against, thinking about nothing at all, when the astonishing sight of a small woman swinging an incredibly large bag had jerked him out of tunnel-minded stupor and made him backpedal all the way to the entrance of the alley.

And now he was watching the struggle with an open mouth.

Bucky wasn't the type of guy to normally just stand around and watch a girl get attacked. He would have jumped in long before now. But he was thrown off by how…well, odd the scene looked. The woman was very petite, wearing some kind shapeless, baggy clothes all in a horrendous shade of maroon, and her long dark brown hair was swinging as she furiously tried to smash her rather enormous tote bag at the large guy attempting to grab her bag.

"I don't—have any—money!" she was shrieking, her face screwed up in anger. "Get lost!"

Bucky felt like telling her that swinging the bag the man clearly wanted _at_ him wasn't a wise move but he felt like he should jump in now. The girl clearly had guts but the fact was, she was too small. The mugger was pretty big. Bucky was fairly sure he could take him though, even though he wasn't much of a fighter.

Actually, he'd never been in a fight before. Steve always joked that it was hilarious that Bucky looked so tough because in reality, Bucky was a lover, not a fighter. He was the kind of guy to say, "Hey, can't we work this out like gentleman?" when things got tense.

He had a feeling that wouldn't work right now.

He rolled his sleeves up, squared his shoulders, and strode into the alley. Neither the girl nor the mugger noticed his presence and he felt sort of awkward then. This isn't what he had anticipated. He hovered next to them, saying, "Ah—okay, I—hi—" Finally, feeling desperate, he aimed a loose punch at the mugger's shoulder and barked, "Hey!"

The mugger let go of the girl's bag and slowly turned around to stare at Bucky. The young woman clutched her bag to her chest and slowly backed away from the two of them, her bright blue eyes— _Cute girl_ , Bucky noted—wide. The other end of the alley was a dead-end so she'd have to wait until Bucky and the mugger were done before she could run for it.

Bucky suddenly realize he still had his headphones in and Rise Against was still playing. "Oh—sorry," he said, yanking his headphones out. "Wait—one minute—" He held up a finger and began to wind up his headphones. The mugger stared incredulously at him and the girl's mouth fell open as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "These were really expensive," Bucky explained.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that telling the mugger that might not have been the best idea.

See, _this_ was why Steve was the better fighter. He always knew what to say and when to say it. More importantly, he knew when to _not_ say things.

Still—maybe it would get the mugger's attention off of the girl.

"Is this a joke?" the mugger asked. Except he interjected several crude swearwords in between his words. He really was a very big and burly man, Bucky noted.

Bucky shifted nervously but, hiding his nerves, sharply said, "Don't say words like that in front of a lady." He saw the girl clap a hand against her mouth and tried to figure out if she was shocked or fighting back laughter.

"Thanks for the manners lesson, pretty boy," the mugger snarled. "Now get the hell out of here before I kick your ass."

"Go on!" Bucky said, throwing his arms out wide and stepping forward, hoping he looked intimidating. He threw a punch at the guy and sort of grazed his jaw as the guy ducked back. "Ha!" he said triumphantly, looking at the girl (who looked extremely shocked) and grinned at her. "Did you see that?"

And then three things happened in very quick succession:

He turned to the mugger, yelling, "FIGHT ME, punk!" in glee.

The girl squealed, "Watch _out_!"

And the mugger slammed his fist straight into Bucky's face.

Bucky's last thought before blacking out was, _There go my headphones. Dammit._

And then the back of his head hit the ground and he was out like a light.

* * *

Bucky woke to the sound of a rhythmic beeping sound. He blinked his bleary eyes and then rubbed the blurriness out of his eyes. He tried to sit up but felt a sudden head rush and fell back onto the bed, groaning. His entire face hurt. What the hell had happened? Where was he?

Looking around at the clinical room painted in pleasant, light neutral colors, and seeing the needle sticking out of his inner forearm, it all suddenly came rushing back to him: seeing the mugger. Fighting the mugger. Well— _trying_ to fight the mugger. Failing miserably at fighting the mugger. Getting knocked out by the mugger.

And now he was in a hospital.

He groaned at how stupid he was. He couldn't even fight off one mugger (although, in Bucky's defense, the man had been pretty huge). And what had happened to the poor girl? The man had probably murdered her. He was probably responsible for some poor, innocent girl's death. He was—

Currently being stared at through the window.

There were two women looking at him through the small window set into the right side of his room, next to the door, that overlooked the hospital hallway. He stared at them, bewildered, and the door opened and they both peeked their heads in. One was a curly redhead and the other had toffee-colored skin and braids.

"Sorry, hon!" the redheaded one said. "Did we disturb your sleep? How are you feeling?"

"We just wanted to see the gallant knight who saved our Ari!" the one with braids said, giggling slightly. Bucky had no idea what this sentence meant. Who was "our Ari"?

The redheaded one elbowed her in the stomach. "Vanessa! We can't say things like that to him!"

"Why not?" Vanessa giggled. "He took a hit for our girl! He's a hero!"

He was now starting to understand. "Ari…is the girl I saved?" he asked. "Uh—tried to save?"

"Yep, and she—"

"And she's _right here_ ," came a calm, amused voice from behind Vanessa and the redhead. Both of them jumped, startled, and then parted to let the girl in. She raised an eyebrow at them and said, "Alright, _ladies_ , let's get back to our jobs."

Vanessa winked at her and then they both vanished, shutting the door behind them.

"Sorry," Ari said, immediately walking over to examine the pump beeping next to him and then taking a look at his IV site. "They're CNAs and they're in college. They're young."

"It's okay," he assured her, taking in a long look at her. Yep, it was definitely the same girl—long, shiny dark brown hair pulled back into a headband, bright blue eyes, a slightly elfin face with pink lips. She was really pretty. Her baggy, all-maroon outfit also made more sense now. "So you're a nurse," he said.

"Yep," she said. "My name is Ari and I'll be your nurse for tonight. Can you tell me your name?"

"Bucky Barnes."

"And what day is it, Bucky?"

He thought for a moment. He'd been walking towards…where had he been going? Oh yes—toward the comic store to pick up the new _Mad Max: Fury Road_ comic he'd pulled. And he always got the call on a… "Thursday," he said triumphantly.

Her eyes gleamed. "Good. And where are you right now?"

"Um, I'm not really sure," he said. "But it's a hospital. So…yeah."

"Good. I'm just going to do a real quick head-to-toe assessment on you, if you don't mind," she said and he nodded, letting her do her thing. She was done in a few minutes and then she took a step back and looked slightly nervous for the first time, her cool and professional demeanor slipping slightly. "So…I do have to thank you. What you did was _incredibly_ stupid—I mean, did you see the size of that guy?!—but you did save me from getting mugged."

"I did?" he asked hopefully. "Good! I mean—good," he amended, trying to sound like he saved women from muggers every day, no big deal, _chill_.

"But…um…you weren't as lucky," she said sheepishly.

"My headphones?" he asked, his heart sinking.

"And your wallet," she said. "I tried to stop him but he snatched them both so quick and then he took off—there was nothing I could do. He left your cell phone, though!" she added brightly. "And then I was more worried about _you_ because at first you weren't breathing—so I called an ambulance and had you taken here. I was heading in on my way to work anyway, so…they admitted me as your patient. I'm going to have to get all your information in a few minutes, though, since you didn't have an ID on you. Do you need to call someone? Family, a…girlfriend? Or wife?"

He noticed she paused on the words "girlfriend" and "wife" slightly. Hmmm.

"No girlfriend," he said. "Or wife. I'm as single as the bills in my wallet." He laughed awkwardly and then cringed. _What. The hell. Was that_? Trying to cover his embarrassment, he coughed and said, "But I'll call my best friend, Steve, in a few minutes—he can bring me some stuff. Actually…can I just go? I think I'm okay."

"We'd actually prefer for you stay overnight and be discharged in the morning," she said. "The doctors made their last rounds an hour ago and you hit your head pretty hard—sometimes cerebral swelling happens hours after the fact. We want to monitor for that. If you're still okay by six a.m. in the morning, we'll let you go."

"Oh…okay then." Bucky shrugged. "Whatever you say, Ari." He smiled at her and noticed she blushed slightly. "Why do I have this, though?" He shook the arm with the IV. "What is this?"

"It's just normal saline," she explained. "It's just to maintain hydration and electrolytes. It's not medication. Almost everyone gets it, as a precaution against dehydration and electrolyte imbalance."

"Ah." He nodded and inspected his arm. "You know…I've never gotten an IV before? This is pretty weird." He squinted at the tubing connected to his arm.

"It was so easy to stick you," she said casually, bending over the foot of the bed to check something in a small control panel. "You have really nice veins."

He stared at her until she looked up and then he raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. "Nice veins, huh?"

She blushed and she looked even cuter with pink cheeks, he noted. "Sorry," she said. "That was really unprofessional. It's just—I've never had to take care of someone who kind of saved my life, potentially, so—and you're—" She broke off, even pinker in the face.

"I'm?" he prompted.

"Never mind," she said in a hurry, taking a hasty step towards the door. "I think—" An upbeat ringtone jangled in her pocket and an expression of pure relief crossed her face. "Sorry, duty calls," she said. "I'll be—um, I'll be in to check on you in a little bit." Looking flustered, she vanished and Bucky grinned to himself.

* * *

Steve was called, told the entire story, promised not to tell Natasha, and then agreed to pick Bucky up in the morning. Natasha called and he had to pick up the phone and endure five straight minutes of her laughing until she couldn't breathe before he slammed the phone down. Steve was called again, sworn at for betraying his promise ("Did you have to tell her I said 'Fight me' and then got knocked out?" Bucky groaned), and then hung up on. Ari didn't pop in for a few hours so Bucky fell asleep feeling pretty annoyed.

Somehow he slept through the night, despite the beeping every now and then, soft alarms in the hall, and people popping into his room every few hours, and he woke at five a.m. feeling refreshed and totally read to get the hell out of this place. Ari stepped into his room, looking exhausted, and did another assessment on him. When she was done, she clapped her hands once and said, "Well, looks like you're clear to go! The doctor stepped in earlier and checked you, said there was nothing to worry about—so I'll just get the discharge papers and clear you for your ride—"

"Wait!" he said. "I need a pen! Actually—I need a Sharpie."

"Oh…okay," she said, looking surprised. "I'll just find that for you, then." She vanished and then turned up half an hour later with a Sharpie and the discharge papers. He flew through those quickly—there was nothing to worry about; he didn't need medications, insurance covered the cost of the stay—and then she left him so he could get dressed in privacy. He was tugging the shirt over his head and when he yanked it down, he noticed Ari was leaning in the open doorway, watching him. He hadn't even noticed her come back in.

"All done?" she asked, smiling.

"Not yet," he said. He crossed the room to her in a few long strides, grabbed her slender arm, and then wrote his phone number in big black numbers over her entire inner forearm before she could stop him. He noticed there was a group of CNAs, and possibly nurses, peering at them from around a corner down the hall and he winked at them. They vanished out of sight. Ari looked stunned and she said, "Bucky—I mean, Mr. Barnes, this—"

"I'm not your patient anymore, Ari" he said. "And I'm going to take you out. Come on, that's the least you can do for me, right? I got knocked out for you!"

Ari couldn't help but laugh.

"Although…um, you might have to pay," he admitted. "Because—you know. I got mugged. But that's totally your fault, too."

She laughed even harder, her cheeks pink.

He kissed her on the cheek, making her eyes fly open in shock, said, "Call me," and then he left, waving goodbye to her and the peeping CNAs he found down the hall and around the corner. "Good morning and goodbye, ladies!" he called to them as he left. "Don't let her weasel her way out of it!"

* * *

That night, he was flipping through his new comic, admiring the way Furiosa had been illustrated, when his phone rang. Without looking at the number and assuming it was Steve, he absentmindedly picked up and said, "Hello?"

"Hello, Bucky." He could hear the smile in her voice.

He straightened up and couldn't keep the grin out his voice either. "Hello, Ari. So where would you like me to take you? Keep in mind—you're paying."

The sound of her laughter was amazing.

* * *

 **A/N: I kind of like the idea of a sweeter, more harmless Bucky! I kind of like the idea of all Buckys to be honest. Haha.**


	3. Take a Breath

**A/N: Victoria and skinny!Steve AU. Idea: "Asthma attack without the inhaler in the middle of the night and the other one sings to calm them down." [Characters from my story _The Original Three_.]**

* * *

 **Take a Breath**

It was ten o'clock at night when Victoria heard the knock on her apartment door. She paused wiping down the kitchen counters down and slowly straightened up, listening carefully. The sound of someone at her door was new. She and her father rarely received visitors. Victoria didn't have any relatives in the country and after her mother had died, the visitors had trickled away over the years. First many people had come, quite a few of them nosy women with casseroles—and husbands. Victoria had always felt like reminding them of this when she saw the predatory way they looked at her father, the way women who crave a little bit of power look at vulnerable men. But she needn't have worried. The visitors faded away over the years, just like her father did.

Victoria was fifteen now.

The knocking became louder and more persistent. Victoria glanced in the direction of the dark hallway that led to her father's room and sighed. He would be of no help even if it was someone dangerous. She called, "I'm coming," wiped her hands on a ratty dishrag and hurried to open the door, making sure her robe's knot was tied tightly.

She opened the door a crack and peeked out—only to stare into a set of very familiar blue eyes. "Steve." She stepped back in surprise, opening the door wider. Despite having lived above Steve her whole life, he almost never came to her door. Bucky almost never did, either. She supposed it was the depressing atmosphere of her apartment. She'd always gone to their places. And once Steve's mother had died a little over a year ago…they'd both started spending more and more time at Bucky's house, where Mrs. Barnes was always happy to feed the both of them (who she always proclaimed to be looking more and more "peaky" every time she saw them).

Steve didn't look so good, she noted in shock. His eyes were watery and red and at first she thought in horror that he might have been _crying_ —and she certainly didn't know how to calm down a crying boy!—but then she realized his cheeks were rather red and his voice sounded raspy as he weakly grinned and said, "Hey."

"Are you okay?" she asked, astonished. "Come in." She ushered him in and waited for the awkward feelings to come, since she never liked anyone seeing how dark and silent and stale her home was—but the feelings didn't come. Perhaps it was because she knew Steve would now understand. After all, his home was silent and empty now. She wasn't even sure how long he'd be able to pay for the apartment on his own after his distant relatives stopped helping him out.

"I got locked out of my apartment," he said sheepishly, sneezing into his hanky. Steve was a bit odd that way; he carried hankies wherever he went. Other, bigger boys mocked him for it, but for a boy who was sick as often as Steve was, it really was just sensible. Victoria would have liked to knock some sense into them—her temper always flared whenever people made fun of Steve—but she could never follow through on her feelings. The thought of stepping out into the limelight…drawing attention to herself…it made her chest feel tight.

"Isn't Bucky home?" she asked. A moment later, she blushed. "Not that—not that you're not welcome here! But you usually…go to Bucky's, right?"

He shrugged and nodded and said, "Yeah, but…it's late…and I think he may be out, anyway, he said he had a date, so…I didn't want to bother his mother, you know—"

"No, of course not," Victoria agreed. "Well, you'll just have to stay here, then. We can help you break into your apartment tomorrow."

"I don't have enough money for a locksmith," Steve said dubiously, twisting his hanky round and round in his slender fingers.

Victoria stifled a giggle. "I was going to suggest smashing the door down."

Steve rolled his eyes and sneezed. "Of course you were. Sometimes, for someone so quiet, you have the most violent ideas, you know that?"

"May I take your coat, sir?" she joked, holding her hand out.

"Of course, my good lady," Steve snarked back, grinning nonetheless and handing over his awful tweed jacket that Victoria hated with a passion. She wondered if now was a good time to "accidentally" destroy it.

She hung his coat in the front closet, knowing her father would never notice it (New York City could go up in flames and her father still probably wouldn't notice), and when she returned, she was horrified to see that Steve looked to be in bad shape. His breathing sounded wheezy and his eyes were closed as he leaned back on her couch, one hand pressed to his stomach, skin pale. "Are you sick again?" she asked, kneeling next to him and pressing a hand to his forehead, pushing his sweaty blond hair from his face.

"Allergies," he groaned. "I feel like there's cotton in my lungs."

"Where's your inhaler?" she asked, looking around as if it might just poof into existence in front of her.

"Locked in my apartment," he said.

"What are you going to do?" she demanded. "What if you have an asthma attack? How do you deal with them without an inhaler?"

"Well—my mother used to sing to me, when I was a kid," he mumbled. A faint flush crept up his neck, as if he hadn't meant to mention this. "But—never mind. It's okay. I won't have an attack. I can usually…feel one coming on. And I don't…"

"Are you sure?" she asked, feeling worried nonetheless.

He nodded.

"Okay. Let's get you to bed," she said, standing up and offering Steve her arm as if she were the gentleman and he were the lady. She helped him stand up and led him to her bedroom. He followed her without a word. She'd known Steve so long that it would have been unthinkable to force him to sleep in the living room. She knew that if any of the ladies in the building knew that Steve was sleeping in her room—especially at this age—there would be endless gossip and scandal. But she didn't really care. Steve mattered more than those nosy ladies. Besides, they'd never find out. It wasn't as if her father was actually going to open her door and look into her room. He hadn't checked on Victoria in years, really.

Still, she hadn't been expecting guests. Steve collapsed on her bed and she scurried around, grabbing piles of clothing and stuffing them into her closet and under her bed, sweeping crumpled page after page of failed Lady Liberty drawings into her desk drawers. She didn't want Steve to see them; he was such a good artist, after all. She wasn't really good at anything. Except…

Her hands tingled slightly and she clenched them.

 _No, Victoria. Don't ever let it show._

She took a deep breath, forced the powers down, and then spun, smiling brightly at Steve. "Alright, well…why don't you lay down, and—"

" _What_?" Steve had lay down on her bed to rest while she cleaned like a whirling dervish but now he popped up, his eyes flying open wide. "Victoria, no!" He coughed. "I'm _not_ sleeping on your bed! You are. I'll sleep on the floor," he said firmly.

"You will not," Victoria said just as firmly. "Sleeping on the hard ground isn't going to do your breathing any favors."

Steve crossed his arms and gave her an obstinate look. "I am not letting a girl sleep on the floor while I sleep on her bed. Do you think I was raised by animals?"

Victoria groaned. "Steve. This is no time to be a gentleman." He raised an eyebrow and she bit back a sigh. To Steve, it was always time to be a gentleman. He was astonishingly chivalrous, which was…well, honestly, something Victoria had always found sweet. But right now…it was just a nuisance! "Steve, please," she said. "I have plenty of blankets, I'll be fine. It's for _one_ night, I'm not going to die—but you might, if you sleep on the ground. What kind of monster would I be, if I forced the _sick_ person to sleep on the ground?" He still looked stubborn so she added, "Please. Don't make me feel like an atrocious hostess."

"Fine," he sighed, relenting. "But only because…" He eased himself back down onto her bed. "I feel like my lungs are filled with—"

"Cotton," Victoria finished, smiling to herself. "I know."

She switched her main lights off but kept one tiny lamp on while she carried in blankets from the linen closet and made a little bed for herself on the ground, layering three thick blankets for a base and one light one for on top. It was summer and it was hot. The tiny golden light cast thin golden rays over the room, dipping parts of the room in gold while other parts remained shadowy. The blond in Steve's hair glinted gold and his face was shrouded in shadows. Victoria bent over him to make sure he was still alive and noticed that not only was he breathing, he was already _asleep_.

 _Boys_ , she thought, stupefied. _Honestly. How does one fall asleep that quickly? And didn't he need to do anything else before bed?_ Girls needed ages to get ready for bed: taking off any makeup (which Victoria was too self-conscious to wear), brushing their hair, changing into nightdresses, moisturizing…

He hadn't even taken his shoes off. Victoria rolled her eyes and yanked them off, tossing them in a corner. Then she took her robe off and clambered into her makeshift bed, leaning over and switching the lamp off. She tossed and turned under her slow moving fan and tried to get comfortable in this oppressive heat…

* * *

She woke to the sound of wheezing and choking in the dark. For one terrifying moment, she had no idea where she was or what was going on. She wasn't on her bed—it was dark—there were strange, choking noises—and she flailed out in a panic, snapping the little lamp on and looking around wildly. When she saw Steve sitting up in bed, her hammering heart slowed slightly. Right—Steve had been locked out and then he—

 _Hang on—_

"Steve!" she whispered urgently, sitting on the bed and gripping his shoulders. "Oh my God! _Steve_!" He was shuddering and wheezing, his skin deathly pale and sweaty, an expression of pure terror on his face, one hand clasped to his throat, struggling to get a breath in. Tears immediately sprung to Victoria's eyes in a panic and she desperately tried to grab his hand, smooth down his hair, touch his shoulder, _anything_. "Steve," she begged. "Tell me what to do! Do you need—the hospital? Should I ring for an ambulance? Call Bucky? Do you need medicine? Steve, please!" She'd seen Steve have asthma attacks before but it had never looked quite this terrifying, nor had he ever been without his inhaler.

Suddenly she remembered what he'd said to her earlier: _Well—my mother used to sing to me, when I was a kid._

Victoria didn't have a beautiful singing voice and she'd definitely never sung out loud in front of anyone, not even Bucky and Steve—it was far too embarrassing—but now was no time for being self-consciousness. She took a deep breath, gripped Steve's face in both hands, and began to quietly sing. Her voice started out whispery and shaky, fear of her father waking up and fear for Steve's life silencing her. But as she sang, she gained slight confidence and noticed that Steve seemed to be regulating his breath in time to her voice, his eyes wildly darting around but slowing down a bit.

She sang her mother's favorite sad song, slow and sweet. She didn't have her mother's singing voice—she didn't have her mother's anything, she often thought sadly—but she was doing the best she could. She sang the slow, soft song about little boys on golden horses rocking across the deep, dark sea, stars like pearls in the water, little princes winking from twinkling rooftops, lost children finding their way back home to their mothers…

She and Steve ended with their foreheads pressed together, Steve's forehead sweaty, and he struggled in to breathe as she sang and she noticed that he was silently crying. She'd never seen Steve cry in public like this—he hadn't even publicly cried when his mother had passed—but she quelled her shock and kept singing, her voice trembling slightly every now and then.

Steve's breathing slowly became more rhythmic and controlled, coming easier and easier with every slightly-hitched breath. Victoria kept singing. She didn't know why but it was reminding her of her own mother and she hadn't even noticed but her own tears had spilled over onto her cheeks at some point. She held Steve's face in her hands, her palms slick with his sweat and tears, and their foreheads stayed pressed together, as they locked eyes, Steve looking exhausted, Victoria still softly singing. Finally her voice died out and they stayed locked in that position for a while before Victoria pressed her lips to his salty cheek and kissed him gently. Then she pulled away and turned away before he could see her face, turning out the light and saying, "Goodnight, Steve," before clambering back into her bed on the ground in the pitch darkness.

She listened to the sound of Steve's normal, peaceful breathing as she stared through the darkness up at her ceiling and suddenly, long after she thought he'd fallen asleep, he murmured, "Goodnight, Victoria."

She couldn't help but feel like something had changed tonight.


	4. Kiss Me, Crazy!

**A/N: Skye and Bucky AU! I love the idea of soulmate marks. I added my own twist to the idea: Soulmate marks that appear as your soulmate's first words to you…once your soulmate turns 18.**

 **As for why Skye and Bucky? Well…why not! I adore Skye/Daisy and I adore Bucky, and these type of AUs and one-shots are the best ways to explore meet-cutes and little stories.**

* * *

 **Kiss Me, Crazy!**

Skye had gone in alone to see if there was anything she could salvage.

"Report to me," came May's voice over the earpiece in Skye's ear.

Skye scanned the damage around her and sighed. "Nothing."

"Nothing is salvageable? Try _harder_ , Skye. We need to get this information."

"I know that!" Skye said. "But I can't exactly hack into a computer that looks like it got pounded on by Bruce Banner!"

May sighed, a tight, controlled sound. "Coulson will be disappointed."

"AC—oh, my bad, he's DC now… DC will just have to deal," Skye said.

"I'm fifteen minutes out. Be on your guard."

"I'll be as vigilant as Captain America," Skye joked. May's line went quiet and Skye sighed as she looked around, scratching her rumpled head. SHIELD had fallen four weeks ago and it was still total chaos. Simmons had vanished, gone to visit a sick aunt and hadn't checked in yet. Skye was extremely worried—she missed her genius friend—but Coulson _insisted_ she was okay, so… And Fitz was still weird from his brain damage. He didn't like to be around people these days. Ward was…gone. Skye's chest tightened in anger at the thought of him. _I'll kill that lying bastard if I ever see him again_ , she thought to herself. Coulson seemed like he was barely hanging on these days, staying up all night (Skye had seen the light in his office) and then looking tired and unhealthy in the mornings. He remained tight-lipped, however, about whatever problems he was facing (minus the whole obvious problem of his beloved organization actually being a sleeper cell for Hydra, the neo-Nazi organization. Lovely).

The team had fallen apart just when Skye had finally become one of them.

She bent over a desk and looked at the computer. Its screen had a bullet hole in it. Someone had been trashing Hydra facilities all throughout Europe these days. Not that Skye was complaining…but this person was also destroying Hydra's computers and files. And their team needed that information. Why? "For reasons," Coulson had groaned when Skye pressed him. Skye figured it just never hurt to know what the enemy knew.

"Not much I can hack with this," she mumbled.

She heard a sudden click behind her head and froze, recognizing the sound of a gun's safety being clicked off. She slowly raised her hands to show that she was unarmed and said, "Don't shoot!"

"Turn around," a hoarse male voice commanded.

She slowly turned around to face…a _hobo_? She squinted at the man, unsure of who she was looking at. He was taller than her and powerfully built, but his face wasn't clean-shaven, he had dark shadows under his eyes, a gaunt look to his face, and long brown hair that hung to his shoulders and looked limp and dead.

Oh, and he had a gun pointed at her.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, never one for keeping her mouth shut.

His eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch and he stared at her, cocking his head ever-so-slightly, before taking a step forward and saying in a low voice, "I should be asking _you_ that question."

Skye froze. The writing wrapping around her left ankle seemed to burn. _I should be asking you that question_. The words had been there ever since she was born, which had always kind of freaked her out, because the marks always appeared when the soulmate in question turned eighteen. So if she'd been born with her mark…did that mean her soulmate was 18+ years older than her? She'd spent her whole life terrified she was destined to be soulmates with an old creeper.

This guy didn't look a day over 29.

"What kind of moisturizer do you use?" she babbled, trying to remain calm.

His eyebrows knitted and he scowled. "What? Don't try to be funny," he added threateningly.

"I'm not!" she said, shocked. "Well—I am, sort of. But you don't _look_ like you're 18 years older than me. I'm 25, how old are you?"

"I—" He paused, suddenly looking disconcerted by her question. "I'm… Forget this," he suddenly snarled. "You said the name Captain America! Do you know him?"

Skye's eyebrows raised. "Um, yeah. Well, not like _know_ him, know him—not like in a friend sense or a Biblical sense—wow, that was a really weird thing to say to my soulmate, sorry… I mean, I've heard of him. Like pretty much everyone on the planet. Have you _not_ heard of him?"

He was staring at her, looking a bit bewildered by her yammering, and he finally said, "You're insane."

"Debatable," Skye snapped. "Now are you going to keep the gun pointed at your soulmate? Not very nice!"

"My…my soulmate," he repeated, still looking dazed—but he slowly lowered the gun anyway.

"So what's your name?" Skye asked. "I'm Skye No Last Name."

One eyebrow of his raised slightly.

"Don't ask," she sighed. "Foster kid thing."

"My name is…" His voice trailed off. "James…James Buchanan Barnes? Bucky… Bucky Barnes." He sounded a bit unsure of it.

Skye's mouth fell open and her heart seemed to stop. She looked at him weakly and suddenly _everything_ clicked into place: the files she'd hacked from Hydra that had explained that Bucky Barnes had been turned into the Winter Soldier, the Winter Soldier never having been caught after the fiasco in D.C., this man looking like a wandering hobo and demanding to know if she knew Steve Rogers, Hydra facilities getting destroyed by a stranger in the aftermath of SHIELD's fall…

"You're the Winter Soldier," she said faintly. "You're—you're the one they brainwashed and turned into an assassin. You're—oh my god, you're Steve Rogers' best friend!"

His mouth opened but nothing came out.

" _You're_ my soulmate?" she said shrilly. "Oh—my—god! This is crazy! _You're_ crazy! No, wait, I'm crazy! Duh!" She face-palmed herself. "No _wonder_ I was born with my mark! You've been over the age of 18 my whole life, technically! How old are you? I don't mean frozen years, I mean like…years awake."

"I don't know," he said, looking a bit hollow.

She frowned. "Oh…well, we can figure that out. We can go find Steve Rogers for you. We can figure out anything you want. After all, you _are_ my soulmate and I'm with—secret SHIELD." She smiled coyly at him, noticing that he was actually really cute once you got past the destitute look in his eyes.

"What about what _you_ want to do first?" he asked, eyebrows raised slightly.

"I want you to kiss me, crazy!" she said. Then she laughed because she thought she was being funny—until he grabbed her, said, "Whatever you want, then," and swept her off her feet by _actually_ bending her over and kissing her.

Yes, today had been a very crazy day indeed.


	5. Three's A Crowd

**A/N: Victoria, Bucky, and Steve one-shot! The idea: both Steve and Bucky are in love with Victoria…but she has no clue. When they have to stay overnight at a motel that only has two beds, things get a little competitive between the guys as they try to decide who gets to sleep next to Victoria.**

* * *

 **Three's a Crowd**

Things don't go as planned, which isn't exactly a surprise. Despite our best efforts to lay low and keep things slow, somehow we always seem to attract heaps of trouble and mayhem. I've just come to accept it by now.

Still—that doesn't mean I like it.

"This is not how it was supposed to go," I groan as we stumble out of the SUV and limp through the parking lot of the motel. You ever go on a road trip and pass through these tiny, in-the-middle-of-nowhere towns with, like, one gas station, a broken down barn, and a shady motel, and suddenly feel extremely safe in your car and relieved that you're definitely _not_ going to be making a stop there?

Yeah. That's the kind of place where we _are_ making a stop.

Except this time it's also in the Australian Outback…which, trust me, gets pretty strange sometimes.

You ever see a land-scavenging bushman with heatstroke and a machete?

Well, neither have I. But I've seen movies. And I definitely don't want to meet one.

"So that place was a bust," Bucky grumbles, looking extremely annoyed. I don't blame him. This is actually our first mission together as just the three of us (I wasn't allowed to go on any missions with the guys until I spent six months in rigorous training at the New Avengers facility in upstate New York) and so far, it ain't going so well. We were flown into Australia on a quinjet (that Stark commandeered from SHIELD ages ago, sneaky guy) and left at our drop site this morning in high spirits. The mission seemed easy then: find strange, probably-dangerous, mysterious alien object that no one really understands (but understand enough to know that we don't want it getting into the hands of any bad guys) at three possible abandoned locations in the Australian Outback, based on some _supposedly_ reliable intel gathered by Fury himself. We drove all day to get to the first location—and as it turns out, the place was the _opposite_ of abandoned. In fact, it was guarded to the teeth. After some Earth-shaking fighting (I'm being serious here; I made the ground tremble a few times, which was cool), a lot of bullet-dodging, and nearly bringing the entire building down on us, we realized the alien objects wasn't there because the place was actually the home base of operations for a big drug dealer. So we hightailed it right out of there, deciding today was not the day to be heroes for the greater good.

Sorry, sometimes even we super-powered freaks get exhausted, okay?

I still knocked a bunch of the scumbags out, though. If that counts.

And now here we are, at the end of the day, sweaty and exhausted and grumpy. Oh, and hot. My entire body feels like it's been cooking all day and I've drunk so much water that I could be named the sixth biggest body of water on the planet, probably.

"Don't worry," Steve says, even though he looks pretty exhausted as well. "We still have two locations to hit."

"We'd better be more prepared for the next one," I grumble.

"Oh, trust me, Fury's getting a shakedown when we get back," Steve says grimly. "What drug was he on? 'Piece a damn cake. Treat it like a vacation.' Yeah… _vacation_ my a—"

The gray skies suddenly let out an earsplitting crash of thunder, brilliant lightning flashing in the sky in the distance. It hasn't started raining yet but I can feel a storm brewing. The air's got that warm, heavy, metallic feeling that always happens before a serious storm. The Australians living in this dusty, dry, snake-and-spider-riddled desert will probably be very pleased—but getting caught in a torrent is the _last_ thing I want.

"Ooh, looks like someone's Avenger buddy is mad," I joke as we wearily walk towards the motel's office. I still haven't met Thor because he hasn't come down from Asgard yet and I can't tell if I'm more excited or more nervous to meet him. I'll probably be intimidated most of all. Steve and Bucky are sort of cool, I guess, and Iron Man's alright—but none of them have anything on an alien prince god…especially when he looks the way he does (let's just say that _whoa_ isn't enough to cover it)/

The motel is one of those supremely cheap deals where the doors to the rooms are on the outside. The place looks abandoned and creepy as hell but I see a shadowy figure leaning against their door, smoking a cigarette, staring in our general direction. I hunch my shoulders, feeling glad that we're wearing our normal civilian clothes instead of our combat outfits. Then again, Steve's and Bucky's builds don't exactly help us look _normal_. But hey, I guess it's better than looking scrawny as hell, because at least creeps will think twice before trying to bother us, right?

Steve and I wait outside while Bucky ducks into the small office to pay for our room. I'm not really in the mood for talking so I fold my arms and lean against the wall, closing my eyes and trying to sleep standing up like a horse. But then I remember I'm in Australia and _spiders_ the size of horses are lurking everywhere so I step away from the wall in a hurry and fold my arms, staring blankly across the horizon.

* * *

Despite looking tired and grumpy, Steve couldn't help but notice that Victoria still looked incredibly pretty. He always thought she was pretty, of course, no matter where she was or what she wore—but sometimes anger suited her, brought out the electricity in her stormy blue-gray eyes. Strange, considering he also thought her laugh lit up the room like sunshine. Victoria was always a paradox this way.

He couldn't help but be acutely aware that this would be the first time in his life that he would sleep in the same room as Victoria. He and Bucky had slept over at each other's places numerous times growing up and they'd always wanted to include Victoria—but that would have been crossing a line in those times. And now, in the year that he'd been reunited with her, things were so different. He'd had to juggle getting to know her again with _both_ of them getting reunited with Bucky. He and Victoria hadn't had much time to spend alone, just the two of them.

Which made things difficult for Steve, considering he'd been in love with Victoria since day one. She was the only girl he'd ever imagined himself with and seven decades hadn't changed that fact. He'd been too shy to confess his love back then, afraid of messing up their friendship, and he had no idea what was stopping him now. Probably the same thing that stopped him before: uncertainty over how she felt. She'd never given the slightest inclination that she liked him as more than just a friend. And he didn't want to put her in a tough situation, so he decided to leave well enough alone, figuring that he still had plenty of time to figure out a way to let her know about his feelings. After all, it wasn't like there was any other guy after her at the moment.

* * *

Bucky had to stick his hands in his pockets to hide their jitteriness as the bored-looking motel owner painstakingly counted through the cash Bucky had handed over. He got the infuriating feeling that the man was taking his sweet damn time on purpose, moving more slowly the more he realized Bucky was in a hurry.

Bucky tried to calm his nerves by telling himself that he was being an idiot. He'd dated many girls before, hadn't he? Sure, he hadn't done it in ages…but he still remembered his old moves. He still remembered how to charm girls. Of course, it was much harder now, now that he found it hard to trust—hard to smile—hard to open up…but he did still _know_ , still remember.

Then again, Victoria was different. She was special. She wasn't just any random girl on the street. She was…as cheesy as it felt to admit this…the one.

Bucky really couldn't imagine loving any other girl this way. He already regretted never having noticed her back in the old days. He'd been so lost in seeing her as his best friend, his sister, his wallflower friend…that he'd completely overlooked the flame that burned inside of her. Completely overlooked her striking looks. Completely overlooked her dry wit and mischievous humor.

But perhaps this was the way it was always meant to happen. Perhaps he wasn't meant to notice her back then, when their lives hadn't intersected in such an extreme way. Yes, they'd been best friends—but it wasn't like they'd been bonded by anything deadly serious back then…the way they were now. Victoria had saved him. Steve had saved him as well, of course, but it wasn't Steve that set Bucky's heart hammering. It was Victoria. It was her tenacity, her stubbornness, her strength as she grabbed a hold of Bucky and dragged him out of the waves and stopped him from drowning.

Yes, Victoria was definitely the one. And he couldn't help but feel a frisson of anxiety mixed with excitement as he thought about the fact that he'd be sleeping in the same room as her for the first time ever. Nothing would happen, of course, because Steve was here (and also…because she had no idea that Bucky was in love with her) but he couldn't help but look forward to it nonetheless. It felt like the beginning of something, no matter how tiny it was.

* * *

Bucky takes about five gazillion years to get the room cards. "Finally," I say, when he steps back outside. "Did you pay him in pennies or something?"

"Something like that," he says mysteriously. It makes no sense but if he thinks I'm going to be curious enough to ask, he's got another think coming. I'm way too tired and I want a hot shower. I feel gross from riding around all day. If this is what road trips feel like, I'll totally pass on all future ones.

Our room is the one at the very far end of the strip. Bucky unlocks the door and we step inside. I drag all the bags into a pile in the corner so we don't immediately make a mess, kick off my shoes, flop face down on one of the beds, and let out a loud groan of relief. It feels so nice to lay down on a clean (okay… _sort of_ clean, probably) bed and just let my bones turn to mush. I don't want to do anything for the next ten years.

By the way, I realize how insanely lazy I sound. I'm a superhero now or whatever, I should be totally used to running around fighting bad guys and getting shot at twenty-four seven. But honestly? I'm not. First of all, I haven't been on that many official missions. This is my first big overnight-type of mission; I've mostly been on day field missions with the Black Widow (which, by the way, is probably the most intimidating thing in the universe; if there's one person you _don't_ want to mess up in front of, it's Natasha. Not because she'll kill you or anything, nah, she's really polite about mistakes—but because you don't want to look like a total loser in front of her). Second of all…

Yeah, I'm just a lazy person. That's basically it. The shocking truth is revealed: tough, fierce street kid…is actually just a sloth on the inside. The end.

Eventually I drag myself up and drop my bag on the bed, digging through it so I can find my sleep clothes and toiletries. I'm in desperate need of a hot shower. I need to scrub the Australia off of me (no offense to Australians, obviously, lovely country here but the heat and the dirt and the bugs…just…no). I gather my belongings, zip my bag up, and throw it back into the corner. Before I slip into the bathroom, I glance around the room and realize that there are only two beds—and neither of them are that big.

"Huh," I say. "Only two beds. How are we going to fit?"

Bucky and Steve both look around the room for a moment and then Steve shrugs. "You'll take the single bed, of course."

"Very chivalrous of you," I say, "but there's no way I'm taking the single bed." Is he crazy? The beds are small enough to begin with—does he really think I'm going to be a selfish brat and take one bed to myself while forcing two enormous super-soldiers to share a bed? Uh, no. "I'll share with one of you."

"That's nice of you to offer, but would you feel…uncomfortable…sharing with one of us?" Steve asks cautiously.

"Why?" I ask absentmindedly, rifling through my toiletry bag to see if my hairbrush is in here. I can't spot the damn thing and it's neon green. Where the hell— "Are you planning on pulling a move on me late at night?"

I'm obviously making a joke (yes, yes, a crude, bad joke, but hey, if you can't make crude, bad jokes with your best friends, who _can_ you make them with? Aside from Tony Stark, obviously) but I don't hear any dry laughs or chuckles. Instead, a shocked silence meets my words and I look up to see Bucky and Steve both staring at me, both of them with their mouths hanging open, as if I've said the most horrifying thing in the whole universe. As if I've just announced that I enjoy eating kittens for dinner and seasoning them with the tears of young children.

"I was just kidding," I say, trying not to sound as offended as I feel. I know we're just best friends, but jeez, is the thought of making a pass at me really _that_ repulsive? Dear god, should I be wearing a brown paper bag over my head? Is my face really that awful?

 _Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot. Really—means a lot to me._

"We—uh, we know," Bucky says, his voice sounding kind of croaky.

I feel extremely annoyed—both at myself for my stupid joke, then at them for not even pretending to hide their disgust, then at myself for even giving a crap—and decide it's time to excuse myself before I accidentally shatter a light bulb or something. "I'm going to take a shower," I say shortly. "One of you go to the front office and try to see if they have one of those small wheel-in mobile beds, okay? Wouldn't want you sleeping next to my hideous face," I mutter under my breath as I stalk into the bathroom and slam the door. Maybe it's the fact that my best friends both kind of look like male models—Steve's got that all-American, Prince Charming look and Bucky's got that rugged, dangerous, bad-boy biker look—and I…well, I definitely _don't_ look like a model.

I spend a minute staring at my reflection in the mirror, frowning and feeling bad for myself and generally throwing myself a pity party and—

Oooh, are those free samples of lavender-scented body lotion? This place is nicer than it looks on the disgusting outside. I'm totally stealing those.

* * *

For one terrifying moment, Steve had thought that Victoria _knew_. That she knew and that she was calmly calling him out on his infatuation with her. So he froze, not sure what to say or how to react. It was only a few seconds later that he realized Victoria was joking (of course she was, she of terrible timing)—and that Bucky was also frozen, looking just as shocked. He didn't really know what to make of that and wondered if Bucky knew about his feelings for Victoria. He hadn't confided in Bucky yet, not sure how let go of a secret he'd kept for _technically_ decades now—but perhaps it was time to tell him…

Bucky volunteered to go check out if there were any wheel-in beds available and Steve nodded, thankful that he had a few moments alone to compose himself. He was normally able to keep his emotions under control and in check—after all, he'd led good men and women into battle a fair few number of times before, and he'd always been careful to hide any doubts or fears he may have had for the sake of his soldiers and friends—but something about Victoria always made him feel short and skinny again, as if he were having an asthma attack or stammering his way through an asinine class debate with the prettiest girl in his and Bucky's grade.

Bucky returned ten minutes later, looking somewhat disgruntled. "No wheel-in beds," he grunted, sitting down on the bed closest to the door with a scowl.

"Why so pissed?" Steve asked, doing an inventory of his stealth suit and making sure there weren't any holes or weak points.

"Dude at the front gave me so much shit," Bucky said, sounding extremely annoyed. "He acted like a wheel-in bed was something only five-star hotels had, instead of something _every_ place should have. Like I was some spoiled punk asking for a Rolex or something."

"Brave of him," Steve said dryly. Most people didn't dare to mess with Bucky. Steve was more physically imposing than Bucky—slightly taller, slightly more muscular—but Bucky definitely had a more intimidating air to him. He had the look of a dark person who'd seen and done some dark things. Which…wasn't actually far from the truth at all.

Steve looked at the two beds, separated by a small nightstand in between them, twin lamp heads extending from the wall above it. "So…about the beds… You go ahead and take the single bed. I'll sleep with Victoria." There was an awkward pause between them as Bucky raised a quizzical eyebrow, staring at Steve, and Steve tried to amend his wording. "I mean…Victoria and I will share a bed."

 _Dammit_. This sounded strange to him too, all of a sudden.

"Thanks," Bucky said, his tone calm, "but it's okay. I know how tired you are. You can take the single bed."

Steve felt a flicker of irritation run through him. Stupid Bucky, getting in his way. Of course, it wasn't Bucky's fault, if he was going to be fair; the guy had no idea about how Steve felt about Victoria. And he wanted to explain but starting off with, "I like Victoria and I want to sleep with her," probably wasn't the best way to go. Bucky was just as protective of Victoria as Steve was and even though it was _Steve_ , saying it out loud would have sounded weird. Steve knew it would have. He just…wanted to sleep next to her. Not to try anything weird, God no—but just to know what it felt like. To see the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, to breathe in the scent of her floral-scented lotion, to…just be near her. But explaining all this out loud probably wouldn't have made any sense.

So yeah, now was not the time to explain his feelings to Bucky.

Steve searched his mind for a reasonable excuse and finally settled on one. "Well, I know you have…er, nightmares sometimes," he said, keeping his tone low. "So maybe you want the single bed? In case you—kick or punch around or something?"

Bucky suddenly stood up from the bed, his fists clenched, his face a funny shade of red, looking furious and Steve took a startled step back. Bucky looked down at his fists and a shocked expression crossed his face. He slowly unclenched his hands and looked back up at Steve. "I…don't punch or kick around," he said firmly. "Trust me, I would know. So you can take the single bed."

"Ah, but do you _really_ know?" Steve asked, forcing a pleasant smile onto his face. "After all, you're _asleep_ , Buck. What if you hurt her? You can have the single bed."

"I would never hurt Victoria," Bucky snapped.

"Except for the time you already did," Steve snapped. It was a low blow—a reference to Bucky's Winter Soldier days, back when he had still been HYDRA's weapon through and through and tried to kidnap Victoria for HYDRA—and he immediately regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

"Just _take_ the single bed," Steve continued, feeling extremely frustrated. Why was Bucky arguing this so much? Why couldn't he just let Steve have this one thing? He was blocking Steve and he didn't even know it. Why was he being so damn annoying? If Steve hadn't known better, he would have thought Bucky was purposely being difficult.

"No, _you_ take the single bed," Bucky said forcefully, his words heavy with some sort of repressed meaning.

Steve was taken aback by the force of his words and a sudden suspicion bloomed in his mind. _Could it be that…?_ He slowly searched Bucky's face and stance, taking in the stubborn set to his mouth, his determined expression, and the tense set of his shoulders. Sudden understanding dawned in Steve and he was so shocked that he actually took a step back. "Do you…do you like Victoria too?" he asked, his mouth open slightly.

Bucky blinked and stared at him, incredulity crossing his face. "I—wait, did you just say _too_? You… _you_ like Victoria?"

Both men stared at each other, incredulous and shocked expressions mirroring on both of their faces. Steve was incredibly taken aback and he could tell Bucky felt the same way, judging by the open surprise on his face—and Bucky almost _never_ showed surprise. So he must have been _really_ shocked…which meant that he probably liked Victoria a lot.

How had Steve never picked up on this?

Even as he tried to work his way through his shock and this unwanted new information, he could feel a sense of competitiveness and possessiveness rising up in me. He didn't normally act this way and Bucky was his _best friend_ —Steve would have died a dozen times over for him—but Steve would also have died a dozen times over for Victoria…and Bucky represented a very real opponent. Had it been any other guy, Steve would have laughed it off, secure in the knowledge that Victoria didn't trust easily and didn't get close to random guys (or random girls, for that matter) easily.

But Bucky…Bucky was a different story. Bucky was a part of Victoria as much as he, Steve, was. Bucky was close to her. Bucky was handsome and strong and he had that dangerous bad-boy vibe going for him that drew most women in like flies, a vibe that Steve had never managed to master and never really would.

Both men were glaring at each other, both of them realizing that they had competition they hadn't anticipated, when the bathroom door opened and Victoria stepped out.

* * *

I step out just in time to catch Steve and Bucky both flying through the air. Steve is throwing himself backwards on one bed and Bucky's sat down heavily on the other bed. Both guys are trying to look casual and normal but I'm not an idiot. I can pick up some sort of tension in the room. I stare at them for a moment and then shrug. Who cares? It's probably some sort of testosterone-fueled battle. Even heroes must have them, I suppose.

"I'm guessing they didn't have any wheel-in beds?" I say as I flip my hair over and begin towel drying it.

"None," Bucky says.

"So who gets to be the lucky jerk who gets a bed to themselves tonight?" I tease, flipping my hair back up. I rub the thin towel through my hair again and then spin, crouching near my bag to look for hairbrush again. Where did the stupid thing go? I can't go to sleep without brushing my hair.

* * *

Steve spoke before Bucky could, quickly saying, "I'll share with you, Victoria. Buck can take the single bed tonight."

 _Dammit_. Bucky clenched his fist once and saw the faint victorious gleam in Steve's eyes. So Steve thought he'd won, had he? Well, he didn't know who he was playing with. It was bad enough realizing that Steve—his best friend in the whole world— _also_ liked the same girl that he did…a girl who also happened to be their other best friend. But letting Steve get her? No freaking way. Bucky wasn't going to let it happen.

"Honestly, Victoria, Steve's trying to be a hero right now," he said, interjecting just the right note of sincerity and mocking into his tone, trying to make it seem like he was awed by Steve's goodness but was also making fun of him in a lighthearted way—the way any best friend would.

"What do you mean?" Victoria called from the corner where she was kneeling by the bags, rifling through them. "Aha!" Her hand shot into her bag and she pulled out a bright green hairbrush, grinning. "Found the sucker." She stood up and began pulling the brush through her straight golden-auburn hair, the few freckles sprayed across her nose suddenly seeming to stand out more than ever. Bucky found himself lost for words for a moment, caught up in watching her, and then he noticed Steve stiffly staring at him, waiting for his move.

"Steve here was telling me how sore he feels because he drove us all day," Bucky said smoothly. "He's just trying to make me take the single bed because you know Steve—always trying to be a good guy."

Victoria laughed. "Steve, you're an angel. You should take the single bed if you're sore! I didn't even realize we made you drive all day. Sorry."

Steve gave a stiff, forced smile and Bucky fought back a laugh. "Why should _you_ be sorry? You don't even know how to drive. Bucky here was the pansy who let me drive all day without offering to help." He laughed like it was a joke but Bucky heard the sharp edge behind the words.

* * *

Is it just me or do Bucky and Steve still seem a little tense? Are they arguing about something? I didn't notice them arguing at all during the day today—but lord knows I can be dense as hell about these sorts of things.

Hang on, where are my socks?

* * *

Steve had to control the urge to punch Bucky repeatedly in the face. He'd never felt any sort of urge to hurt Bucky, _ever_ —but he figured a good pummeling wouldn't really do the guy any harm. After all…he was a super-soldier too. He could take it.

"Besides," Steve added, unable to help himself, a hint of smugness entering his tone. "I'm not _that_ sore…I'm pretty tough. So it's okay that I drove all day—I realize it might have been too much for you, Buck. You know, given that you get tired out so easily these days…"

He smirked at Bucky while Bucky's eyes flashed. Steve felt a little out of it, because not only had he never behaved this way with Bucky before, he'd never really behaved this way before _at all_. How could he have? He'd never had the chance to. When he'd been his skinny, sickly self, he wasn't in any position to be jealous and competitive over girls. No girl had given him the time of day and had he ever tried to get competitive with some guy, he had no doubt that boy would have beat him into the next century.

Ironic, really, that Steve sort of _had_ gotten beaten into the next century…

He hadn't gotten that chance in this century either. Before Victoria had come back along into his life, the only woman he'd ever sort of had feelings for had been Peggy Carter—and that had been a temporary crush borne out the realization that he might actually never come home from war, might never come back to Victoria. He'd never been able to really feel much for any woman he met the first few years he'd lived in this century. Women had showed their interest, sure, but he just couldn't connect with them. He didn't get them and they didn't get him.

Victoria was different. Victoria was home. Victoria was the past, the present, and…hopefully the future. She was worth fighting for—even if it meant he had to fight his other best friend for her. After all, only one of them could get her in the end.

Of course, there was a small chance that she didn't pick _either_ of them, if she didn't have any feelings for either of them—and with Victoria, you really never knew what she was going to do—but Steve decided not to focus on this outcome at the moment.

Bucky's lips pressed into a flat line and he glared at Steve. "I don't get tired easily," he snapped, forgetting that he was supposed to be putting on a show for Victoria.

"Bucky, are you okay?" Victoria asked, standing up and turning around. She looked puzzled. "Are you both okay? Are you _fighting_? Jeez, it's just a bed. Whoever doesn't get the single one this time can get it next time! I know you guys need your space but guys, really. Come on. It's one night."

Despite their budding fight, both Steve and Bucky exchanged glances. Bucky looked like he was restraining the heaviest urge to roll his eyes and Steve's lips twitched. Victoria could be so damn clueless sometimes. It was endearing.

"You're right," Steve said. "It's just a bed. Which is why I insist Bucky take it. You've been frozen in cryostasis for seventy years, Bucky. You deserve all the space you need."

* * *

First my hairbrush. Now my socks. Honestly. What's gotten into me? Why can't I find anything in my bag?

My stomach is growling.

Do they deliver pizza to Freaking Nowhereville, Australia?

* * *

Bucky gritted his teeth. Every time he made a move, Steve—relentless and stubborn as always—countered directly and immediately. Bucky used to find his tenacity endearing, something to praise about his best friend (while secretly worrying that Steve was one day going to get his ass kicked to Kingdom Come).

Bucky did not find it endearing any more.

The urge to slam Steve's head into the nearest hard surface was extremely hard to stifle and his cybernetic hand twitched ever so slightly. Steve's sharp eyes caught it—of course they did; the Captain never missed a thing—and Bucky smiled grimly at Steve, not afraid to let it show that he could—and would—take Steve on in a fight if need be. He knew Victoria would have been appalled if they started beating each other up and he certainly wanted to avoid displaying that kind of violence in front of her—what if she got hurt? How would they explain it to her, anyway?—but what could he say? At the end of the day, they were guys…and they settled their problems with their fists. Despite all of Steve's good guy speeches, despite all of Bucky's attempts at self-control, when it came down to it: they were both fighters.

He'd just barely gotten over the shock of the fact that _Steve_ liked Victoria as well. Now he had to contend with the fact that Steve was…well, a good contender. Bucky could have punched a hole in the wall over the unfairness of it all. When the hell did Steve start liking Victoria? Had it been back in the past? Granted, Bucky hadn't liked Victoria then—but he didn't think Steve had either. He would have seen it…wouldn't he? Which meant that Steve had probably started liking her recently. And it was so damn unfair!

Unfair because Bucky was pretty sure he both wanted and needed her more. Steve was a hero, a good-looking gentleman with an amazing heroic reputation. There were probably millions of women out there who would take him in a heartbeat. He had his pick of ladies. Bucky, on the other hand, wasn't going to have women lining up for him any time soon. What woman would want to date a former assassin with a metal arm? Very few, he thought. And despite all that—despite Steve probably knowing that Bucky was more lonely, that Bucky had more trouble opening up to people, that Victoria was one of the only girls he could see himself with, that Bucky wasn't comfortable around other women like Sharon and Natasha the way Steve was—Steve _still_ liked Victoria.

Also unfair because Steve was… _Steve_. Had this been back in the day, Bucky would have had no doubts that he would win the girl—but he wasn't so sure now. Sure, he still remembered all his old moves…but putting them into play felt a bit weird to him. Steve was strong, handsome, smart, nice, heroic, a leader—he was literally everything a girl could want. And he'd spent more time with Victoria. Those days when Bucky had been the Winter Soldier hunting them and hurting them, Steve and Victoria had gotten to bond alone (okay…Natasha and Sam had been with them too, but whatever). Victoria had gotten to see handsome Captain America in all his glorious goodness and bravery. And what had she seen of Bucky? First a murderous assassin hell bent on kidnapping her and delivering her to HYDRA. Then a sullen, silent ex-assassin who wasn't really the most charming or friendly guy on the block.

Steve definitely had a leg up in the situation. He was practically already the perfect Fairytale Boyfriend and Bucky suddenly regretted not trying harder to socialize, to humanize, to be nicer to Victoria when she tried her hardest to bring him out of his shell.

Of course, it had occurred to Bucky that ultimately, it came down to Victoria. She would pick who she wanted (unless she picked neither of them, but he wasn't going to dwell on that scenario right now). But that didn't mean that Bucky wasn't going to fight as hard—if not harder—as Steve for her. He was going to show Victoria that he was in it to win it.

When she realized that there was a competition going on at all, of course.

* * *

I find my socks and slip them on. Then I lace on my sneakers and wave my burner phone and a plastic laminated page detailing all of the local food joints (there's a total of…three) in their faces. "I'm going to step outside and see if there's anything we can order in," I say.

Both Steve and Bucky take a break from playing Let's Glare At Each Other For No Reason Other Than a Stupid Bed (Aren't Boys Dumb?)! and both turn to look at me. Their expressions are a little more intense than the situation warrants and my eyebrows fly up in surprise. Are they really that hungry?

Huh—maybe they are.

Actually, yeah, that's probably it. They're low on serotonin (god bless my Dumpster anatomy and physiology book, always helping me sound smart in the most random of situations) and cranky from the day's non-successes (I think there's a word for that…but eh, I can't remember it right now). Once we all eat something, whatever this tension is should blow right away. There is nothing that pizza cannot cure.

Remember that. They're words for the ages. Put it on my gravestone.

"Yeah," Bucky says, breaking the silence, sounding a bit hoarse. "You… Yeah, you do that."

"Sounds good, Victoria." Steve smiles tightly at me.

I shrug the weirdness away and step outside. The air still smells like a thunderstorm on the way and I take a minute to hold my arms out and feel the heat and stillness around me, letting it envelope me, before I start dialing the number of the first place on the sheet.

* * *

The second that Victoria stepped out of the room, Steve and Bucky were at each other's throats. They both lunged forward, grabbing the necks of each other's shirts. Steve barely had time to focus on the fact that this situation was completely surreal and insane.

"Back off," Bucky snarled, his cybernetic arm clenching the front of Steve's shirt tightly.

"Keep it down!" Steve hissed, his eyes darting to the door. Victoria stood right outside and they could hear her slightly muffled voice talking on the phone. The walls and doors were thin. Unfortunate for the hookers and drug dealers who probably frequented this type of place.

"And no way!" Steve added in a low whisper, his eyes burning. He tightened his grip and shook Bucky slightly. " _You_ back off!"

"Why do you even like her anyway?" Bucky snapped in a low voice. They were both nose to nose now, both breathing heavily, both fueled on by the competition of the moment. It had almost become less about Victoria at this point and more about who would win. "You could have anyone, _anyone_! You could have Sharon—she likes you and she's great!"

"If she's so great, _you_ have her," Steve hissed. "Why do _you_ like her, huh? Because she's the only available option? Nice, Bucky, that's real flattering to her. You want her because she's the only girl who'll tolerate you—"

"Shut up, Rogers!" Bucky snarled. "You never did know when to keep your mouth shut!"

"And you never knew how to stop yourself in time!" Steve snarled right back at him. "How many hearts have you broken, Bucky? She's not just another arm charm for you to mess around with!"

Bucky shoved Steve so hard that Steve staggered back a few steps. Bucky's face was white with anger and his eyes looked darker than normal. "You don't think I know that?" he hissed in a low voice, eyes darting to the door to make sure Victoria wasn't coming in. "I know how important she is! She's the one who saved me, she's the only one who—" He stopped and took a deep breath. "She's the only one I could ever see myself with. She's the only one, Steve. Why don't you get that? You're nice. You're a hero. You know other women who like you. You can sort of function normally. You're not some piece of shit who has gallons of blood on his hands. You could fall in love with anyone. Why do you have to take the one person who actually _likes_ me and doesn't just see a killer when she looks at me? The one girl who's not instantly on her guard when I walk past her?" Bucky laughed bitterly. "You think I don't notice how on edge Sharon gets when I walk past her? You don't I notice how Dr. Foster watches me, like I'm some device that can detonate any second? Victoria is the only one who makes me feel _real_."

Steve's eyes were glittering with fury. "Oh, and you always get what you want, do you, Bucky? I don't care. It's not going to work this time. It happened when we were kids and you're trying to do it now. Somehow you _always_ win. Somehow you _always_ come out on top. You always got the girl back in the day. No one ever _looked_ at me. You have no idea what it feels like, do you? You feel like a monster right now—but you have no idea what it feels like to be lonely. To resign yourself to the idea that you're always going to be goddamn alone. To give up on the idea of a damn family and being happy with someone because no one will ever look at you. No one looked at me then—and you can bet your ass that no one _really_ looks at me now. You think I have my pick of women? I don't! All they see is a hero—an Avenger—some celebrity they want to claim like a prize! I've never, _ever_ met a woman who cared about me. Who wanted to get to know me. Who cared about my art or my—my interests or hobbies or _anything_ about me, goddammit. I'm some sort of untouchable, unattainable prize. You think that's supposed to make me feel _good_? At least you don't have the pressure of the universe on you! You can take your time and heal and find some girl out there who likes you for who you are. Me? I'm always wondered if people like me for me…that skinny, sick guy I still am on the inside…or if they like me for my status! And Victoria—Victoria is the _only_ girl who has ever really seen me. Who has ever liked me for who I was. She accepted me back then, she knew who I was, she loved me the way I was—and she likes me now. She could give a damn about my heroism. And I've loved her since day one. So tell me, why should I give up my first and only love just because _you_ feel like you need to win…yet again?"

Both men glared at each other, fists clenched, the air thick and heavy with the weight of their confessions and accusations.

"Fine," Steve suddenly decided. "I'll do you a favor and I'll back off—for tonight," he added dangerously. "This isn't over."

Just then, the door opened and Victoria bounced back in.

* * *

"Pizza's on its way," I announce as I walk back inside, a spring in my step at the thought of hot, cheesy, saucy goodness. "I ordered two—" I stop when I notice that Bucky and Steve are both breathing heavily, and pale and sweaty in the faces, jaws clenched. They look even crazier than they did before, as if they've been fighting or engaged in an intense workout session or something.

"Uh, everything okay?" I ask. When neither of them answer, I put my hands on my hips. "Is this still about the damn single bed? Wow, you guys are huge babies. Okay, who's taking the single bed tonight? Let's decide this once and for all."

They're silent for a moment and then Steve finally says, his voice coming out a bit strangled as if he's choking on his words, "I…guess I am."

Bucky smirks, which is weird, because shouldn't he be upset that Steve won this round?

"But it's _my turn_ next time!" Steve bursts out, looking furious and glaring at Bucky, the veins in his arms standing out.

"I don't understand," I say, feeling extremely puzzled. What the heck am I missing? "Your turn? But you're getting the single bed _now_ …?"

Both Bucky and Steve get shifty _OH CRAP_ looks on their faces. They stare at me, looking panicked for a moment, and I stare back at them, feeling extremely bewildered. I feel like I've walked onto the set of a random play and don't know the cues or my lines or the plot or _anything_ , really.

Oh, whatever. There's pizza coming so I don't even care that much.

"Okay, well, whatever!" I say in a sing-song voice, kneeling down by my bag. "Pizza's on its way so honestly, I don't care about anything other than that. We're all just pissed off cause we're hungry. A bed is just a bed, right?" I chuckle to myself. Ha. Hahaha. Fighting over a bed. My boys are so silly and cute.

* * *

Victoria's back was turned so she missed the looks of relief and exhaustion that crossed both Steve's and Bucky's faces as they both flopped down on their respective beds, stifling groans and minds swimming with the revelations of the evening.

Oh yes. Even with the original three, sometimes three _could_ be a crowd.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow, this ended up being a little darker and heavier than I anticipated! Haha. I'm totally open to doing this concept again in a much more lighthearted, funny tone someday. But anyway, hopefully this was fun for whoever read it!**


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